


The name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.

by TobermorianSass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Crack, Implied Slash, James Bond - Freeform, M/M, Post-Canon, tentacles are involved but never actually appear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2893097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TobermorianSass/pseuds/TobermorianSass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco have a little misunderstanding involving a magical sexually transmitted disease and an icon of muggle popular culture. Draco is, unfortunately, disappointed at the lack of tentacles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EssayOfThoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/gifts).



It is a little known fact, unfortunately the result of the rather odd way in which the education system at Hogwarts functions, that a rather iconic piece of muggle culture happens to share a name with a rather iconic magical sexually transmitted disease.

Not that the disease is a magical experience at all.

Of course, if the stars had not aligned themselves so, perhaps none of this might have been fated to happen.

However, it did happen and unfortunately, it was the result of a rather poorly titled book which became a poorly titled film, panned by most critics, but elevated to the status of a classic simply because it followed the adventures of that truly British hero, James Bond.

On this fine day, on the eleventh of August, Nineteen-ninety-nine, Harry James Potter, happened to select precisely  _this_ book from all the other books he owned -  _not_  that he owned many books, none in the non-James Bond vein at least - and furthermore, to bring it with him to work in order to entertain himself (or so he claimed) during the long hours of the night shift at the Auror office.

Enter Draco Malfoy, stage right, with all the grace and air of general superiority generally found in overpampered Persian cats and possessed of that delightful ingenuousness and blithe ignorance of all things muggle common to all purebloods. 

Just like Potter to miss his grand entry.

And for, a  _book_? Which seems to be - oh  _Merlin_ , that is  _repulsive_. 

* * *

 

"I didn’t know you were one of those," Draco says without preamble, because brevity is the soul of wit, especially where Potter is concerned.

Harry looks up at Draco, "One of what?"

"Those,"Draco says meaningfully, "a pervert," he adds, because Potter’s obliviousness is a well known fact - if not the regrettable coincidence in nomenclature.

Harry looks carefully at the cover of his book and then at Draco.

"Um _,"_ he says in a way that suggests that it might be a question but possibly also a statement of worry for Draco’s apparently fragile mental condition.

The traditional Potter eloquence.

 _Tentacles_ , thinks Draco,  _Tentacles. Tentacles tentacles tentacles. I could do tentacles_.  _Oh, could I do tentacles._ His mind throws up at least seven different possible scenarios involving tentacles, all of them  _very_ appealing and all of them  _absolutely definitely not_ involving Potter, not at all.

"What?" says Harry, "Malfoy what are you on about?"

"What?"

"Tentacles. You just blurted it out. Tentacles. Like it's supposed to mean something."

Draco gulps and turns bright red. Definitely did not mean to have said any of that out loud.

"Are you feeling all right?"Harry asks, concerned, "Overworking yourself - need a break - a Roger Moore night out -"

Draco splutters and manages a very strangled,  _Potter_ , and attempts to beat a hasty retreat before Harry spots the little (well, the  _not inconsiderate_ ) problem he’s having down there.

"Malfoy, are you  _sure_ you don’t need me to floo St Mungo’s?"

"TGM," Draco blurts out in a desperate attempt to save face.

"What - what are you -"

"Octopussy, that’s what it’s about, isn’t it?"

"What?"

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. One would think a wizard would take the effort to be acquainted with all the things that could go disastrously wrong when magic and sex were mixed together, but clearly, the Boy Who Lived thought himself far above the mundane concerns (or invulnerable, probably the latter, that pompous git) of the magical disasters waiting to happen to his bits.

"Tentacular Genital Morphosis?"says Draco, "The disease? Turns your bits into wavy tentacles, usually uncomfortable except for wizards and witches of, er, kooky sexual disposition?"

Light dawns on Harry and he barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes. Trust a pureblood to miss out on the finer points of muggle popular culture.

"Honestly Malfoy, it’s not the first thing that would’ve sprung to anyone’s mind," says Harry, "Sure you’re not, uh, one of those wizards you mentioned?"

Draco turns a shade of red that Harry thinks rather suits him. Not quite Gryffindor, but not plain tomato either. It sets off his white-blonde hair rather nicely, Harry thinks. Perhaps he should clear all of this up and relieve the poor man – who looks as though he’d like to have a white knight sweep in and carry him off, assuring him that this is nothing more than a bad dream – of his anxieties.

But on the other hand, Malfoy, embarassed and confused, was undeniably far more attractive (personality-wise,  _personality-wise_ , nothing more than that, thank you very much) than Malfoy, cool, calm and collected. 

It could be fun to ruffle him up.

Just a little.

(Maybe a lot.)

"Right," he says, "Let me educate you."

* * *

Education, to Draco’s disappointment – purely at the lack of blackmail material, you understand, not  _personal_ disappointment – involves rather less snogging (well all right, _some_ snogging, but it's all on-screen) and tentacles and a lot more  _muggle_ television and an average looking actor whose name is a sex pun.

And of course,  _Potter_ , smirking in his corner.

 _Unforgivable_.

He sidles up to Harry, "Muggles are strange _,"_ he says and yawns, "Weird fetishists."

Harry rolls his eyes, "It’s not a fetish Malfoy."

"Looks like a fetish to me. Fit bloke - or at any rate, someone these muggles think is fit. Girls with octopus tattoos. Exotic eastern lands. Sex oozing from every pore."

"Well if you put it that way."

Draco stretches and lets his arm fall on to the back of the couch, "Is this what muggles do for kicks then?"

Harry pushes his glasses back up his nose and looks at Draco, "Kicks?"

"You know," Draco glares expressively as though he expects Harry to be intimately acquainted with how his mind works, "kicks."

"Erm _,"_ says Harry, "Well, terrible sex pun names for the women aside, I don’t really think so, not if you mean what I think you mean?"

Draco turns back to watch yet something else explode on screen,  "Muggles are fucking weird," he says, emphasizing their weirdness by swearing as filthily as he knows how to.

Harry wonders if he should start counting the number of times he’s forced to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at Malfoy’s smug expression, assured that his ignorance was in fact proof of wit.

"Please," said Harry, "You’re the one who told me about what basically amounts to sexually transmitted disease fetishists."

Malfoy grinds his teeth,  _‘"_ s not weird, ‘cos at least sex is actually involved."

Harry blinks and repeats the sentence at least three times before he’s able to process the inane childishness of it.

"Really, Malfoy, really?"

Draco crosses his arms and stares huffily at the screen and Harry shakes his head in bemusement.

"You’re a moody prat, Malfoy," he tells him.

"Why call it Octopussy if it involves neither Octopi or pussies?" Malfoy demands petulantly, "Or tentacles?"

"You sure you’re not one of those wizards you’re talking about?" Harry asks him.

"You and your lot are always on about how amazing muggle things are, this isn’t amazing, this is bloody stupid," says Malfoy, "There’s no octopi, or tentacles, it’s like watching Finnigan attempting to do magic and failing pathetically and everyone’s ridiculously ugly."

"You  _are_  one of those wizards you were talking about," Harry says with satisfaction, "It’s always the prissy ones."

"What?"

"You," says Harry, his eyes twinkling with perverse satisfaction, "You’re one of them. A fetishist."

If Draco had been a buxom young lady, his bosom would have heaved with indignation. As things stood he sat up very straight, looking rather like an indignant snake, "I definitely do not - am not one of those."

"‘Course," Harry looks down at his hands and grins,  _So how much will you pay me to stop me from telling, dunno, everyone_.

Draco splutters ineffectually,  _mind like a sink, Potter – no one – not even in their wildest – definitely not –_ and then finally, with some effort manages to choke out,  _You’re a Gryffindor!_  as though that explains everything.

"I thought the wisdom of age and personal experience had led you to develop a more nuanced view of house politics and identities," Harry says sadly, "Maybe your mother will know how much is an appropriate amount."

Draco’s eyes widen at that, "You wouldn’t."

Harry shrugs, "You can always find out."

"Anyway its completely irrelevant because I’m definitely not a fetishist," says Draco, "Definitely not. And I could say the same about you, reading pornographic literature while on duty."

"They only have to read the book to know it’s not true," says Harry.

"Who says I can’t jinx it, Potter?" Draco’s face is insufferably smug and Harry’s fingers twitch with the need to slap him, "I’m a wizard."

"Merlin’s beard," says Harry, "You’d think you’d have learnt how to tell when someone’s pulling your leg by now. Not that I mind you being a fetishist."

"I’M NOT A BLOODY FETISHIST," Malfoy roars, giving up on maintaining the famous Malfoy cool and resorting, instead, to teenage dramatism. This shade of red, combined with his hair now miraculously shaken out of place by the storm of emotions, Harry thinks, is aesthetically pleasing and is a look Malfoy should cultivate more often.

"You look nice in this shade of red," says Harry, "‘Sides I saw you back there, moving your hand to your bits thinking you were being very discreet about it."

Draco splutters, turning a fine shade of purple which, if possible, makes him look even more attractive.

"Purple’s a good look on you," Harry says appreciatively, "You should keep it. I told you I don’t mind you being a fetishist, different strokes for different folks, y’know. Completely understandable that you like imagining me with tentacles. Wouldn’t look half bad either even if I do say so myself."

Draco makes a sound that's somewhere between a squeak and a growl, very thankful that Potter's Legilimency skills are only so-so, because those seven different scenarios are still  _very_ attractive, even if the  _actual_ Potter is a complete prat.

"Egotistic twat," he mutters, "Sod off."

Harry only wiggles his eyebrows lewdly in response and Draco Malfoy silently vows to spend his weekend learning all the variations of Memory-altering charms (preferably the  _Obliviate_ ) to make sure all of this is expunged from Potter’s memory forever if that’s the only way he will be spared future embarrassments in public and possibly also, aneurysms.

Even if he  _does_ spend the next week introducing himself everywhere like he did when he was eleven.  _The name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy_.

Even if he  _does_ end up buying the entire box-set of the James Bond books and then spends time conjuring up a series of progressively wilder scenarios that involve him being Bond - he has the hair, the name, the charisma - and Potter alternating between being Moneypenny and assorted Bond girls, including  _Octopussy._

Except  _his_ Octopussy involves tentacles. As it  _should_.

**Author's Note:**

> Tentacular Genital Morphosis is a magical STD invented by essayofthoughts


End file.
